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And me, but I can’t really tell you what my Halloween costume is and that’s why Orsi and I are both covering it up. It’s just that offensive.
This Halloween party was a riot. What I remember of it anyway. It makes me not hate Halloween for a whole day or two even!
It’s on like Donkey Kong in our house. It might have something to do with this whole baby thing.
Last night, The General and I pulled out the measuring tape to take measurements. THAT WAS GREAT FUN. And I hope our weird neighbor observed it all, which was entirely possible because we did it in front of a window. If he didn’t have cable before, I’m sure he does now. Ain’t nobody want to watch that kind of thing!
The General hit the store last night and brought home so, so, so much fruit, which makes us both very happy. I started my day off with four cups of water before cracking open a Mountain Dew. I brought leftover Subway for lunch and a container of yogurt for a mid-afternoon snack. My co-worker brought cupcakes today and I’m going to partake, because I don’t turn down a cupcake.
I’d lost 29 pounds and ended up gaining 12 back, so I’m down 17 from the first of last year. I can explain it with lots of soda and bad food choices. I’m cool with that and happy that I didn’t gain it all back. It’s all about making good choices all the way around and the first choice I’m making is to get my ass healthier!
And now I have a penis. Not really. But Dr. Pepper’s weak ass attempt at using macho marketing made me think I might. Does it not?
But here’s the thing, it’s not just Dr. Pepper Ten that’s been geared towards dudes. Exhibit 2:
DUDES GET OFF ON FERGIE. And on tying cherry stems in knots. And probably Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper.
Here’s the kind of commercials they showed in the 60s. And this makes me want to buy Dr. Pepper!
It has something for everyone! Sand castles! Beaches! Campfires! Women AND men eating hot dogs! Trumpets!
His name is Fipsy, or at least that’s what we’re calling him when he’s not in the room. He’s a doctor who specializes in women’s health and reproductive medicine. He reminds us both of a mad scientist and we couldn’t love it more. He’s from the east coast and I appreciated that when it came to his straight to the point demeanor and dry sense of humor. I <3 Fipsy (even though he made me get blood tests today, too!) and his degrees from MIT, Johns Hopkins and Harvard. I don’t want some dummy knocking us up, you know?
I don’t know how much I’ll write about this whole process on here. It’s obviously super personal and incredibly sensitive. And I don’t necessarily know that all of my family is on board with the whole process, so sometimes that makes it a little hard for me. I know that no matter what happens, though, this little bundle of poopy diapers will have two parents that adore him/her, an incredibly sweet big brother, and all the awesome aunts and uncles in the world, whether it’s blood or not.
There’s still a lot of time to go before all of this becomes a reality. After all, we do have a trip to Vegas planned in February, where nobody needs to be knocked up. Maybe time will do everyone involved some good, you know?
Back when I started being all healthy and crap (in July 2010), I impressed myself a lot: watching what I ate, being aware of how different choices throughout the day could effect how I would feel, tricking myself into drinking water. You name it and I, without the exception of fad diets or diet pills or whatever, gave it a try. I did a pretty good job over the course of time and slowly lost 30 pounds. Slowly’s the way to go with something like this, so I was happy.
And then things started happening like we forgot to go grocery shopping for several days in a row, I wasn’t feeling well, my gym membership expired, so I just didn’t go back. Obviously they were just excuses, but they worked as far as taking a toll on the ol’ beltline. The three sizes I’d lost changed to only losing one size and even that was starting to get a little snug. I didn’t gain back all of the weight, but enough for me to notice and not exactly be thrilled about it.
I had a doctor’s appointment last night and there’s just something about a doctor’s visit that makes me always want to get all healthy. Again. I’m sure it didn’t help that last time I was there I was all bragging to Dr. P. about how I’d been going to the gym and eating healthy, etc. and had lost all this weight. And then yesterday happened. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. I already know.
So, this morning, I pulled out the oatmeal packet, which required bypassing my American Pop Tarts (they’re seriously red, white and blue) that are in my bottom drawer at work. I went to the break room and filled up a plastic up full of water that I’m finishing before I let myself get a soda. We’ll work on breaking the soda thing, but that kind of thing ain’t happening overnight, my friends.
Tell me your good fortunes of losing weight, of getting healthier and just feeling better about yourself. Motivate me. I have a feeling I’ll need it!!
Late Friday night, The General and I were discussing our Punkin Patch plans for Saturday morning. We’d got the OK from The Kid that it’d still be fun, even at the age of 14, so we were trying to shake out something fun. My requirements (a corn pit and corn dogs) were not placed very high on the scale of requirements (and for good reason, I’m sure), and we tried to fit in The Kid’s wishlist (corn maze) and The General’s (a petting zoo). I would have also picked pony rides, but apparently that’s just for kids. We decided on Apple Jack Orchards. Quick review: Two thumbs up. A++++. Would do business with again. (I rank everything in my life just like I do Ebay feedback.)
We navigated the corn maze somewhat successfully:
And then we poked around until we found 89 pounds of pumpkins that we needed. Mind you, only three of them have been carved at this point.
It’s not obvious The Kid was tired of pictures at this point, is it? He better get used to it, because this little trip just got turned into a family tradition. I don’t care if he is over six feet tall next year. He’s still getting in that damn wagon for a picture. (I rule at parenting, no?)
In case you were curious, this here blog is the 2nd thing that comes up if you decide you want to Google this phrase:
how can i wright an old navy camurshal.
The first is Old Navy’s website.
99% of people in this world scare me. I need them to occupy a dictionary. Or at least spell check. I mean, c’mon. Google even asks if you want to search for it spelled correctly. How do people manage to brush their teeth without shoving the tube of Crest just directly in their mouth and poking their eye out with the toothbrush?
I hate it when people make these, so I’m totally doing it. That makes sense, right?
After we gorged ourselves with Thai food tonight, The General and I decided to go see a movie and ended up at Footloose at the ShowPlace ICON in St. Louis Park’s West End. We’ve done this a couple of other times this past summer, both times with free movie tickets and usually at earlier show times. The trick about this particular theater is the crowd you have to navigate through to get into the theater. Once you’re in, it’s safe. You can avoid the wobbling drunk women in their 40s who are window shopping at Hot Mama after a night at Toby Keith’s I Love This Bar and you can steer clear of the two bros we ran into tonight who were dressed all in black, complete with sunglasses on… at 11:30pm. They were either planning on robbing Charming Charlie or spending the evening carousing about at Sopranos Italian Kitchen.
Tonight, on our walk from the theater doors to the parking garage elevator, we had to navigate around to fresh piles of vomit. We got in the elevator with two girls/ladies. One was barefoot and complaining that she had to wear heels because she had chunky legs and the other drunk and not wanting to talk to Chunky Legs about the person that apparently didn’t text back when he said he was going to. We stepped over a couple more vomit puddles in the parking garage, one that had been halfheartedly hosed down. The chunks were gone, but you could still see what it was, you know?
And finally, as we were rolling out of the parking garage, I nearly clipped a couple of gals that were walking down the ramp, where it’s clearly marked no pedestrians. I guess you’d have to be able to read that word to know what it means. I had my window down, so I politely reminded them that it wasn’t a sidewalk they were stumbling through. One of the classy ladies looked at me and said/shouted/slurred, “SERIOUSLY?” and, yeah, I was serious, or I wouldn’t have said it, you dilweed. She gave me the finger, I called her the c-word and drove off. Normal Saturday night, right?
The thing about it being winter time is it’s a little tricky. In the summer, you can see the patios of people potentially getting trashed out of their mind at Cooper or the people hoping Toby Keith might actually show up at his bar where they serve beer in tiny mason jars and you can play cornhole on the dance floor. If that doesn’t make you want to pull on your Ropers and head to suburban Minneapolis, I don’t know what does. When it’s cold out, they’re all shoved inside and you don’t know about them until it’s too late.
I love the ShowPlace ICON. They’re never busy and you can pick out your seats before you get there. The staff is super friendly and they have butter flavored salt. I don’t know how else you could beat that.
Sometimes, I just search for pictures/videos of myself in Jenni’s Flickr and I can spend hours and hours laughing at previous shenanigans. Some as the result of alcohol, all as a result of REALLY great ideas.
